Tales from the Bottom of My Sole

by David Kingston Yeh

  “Grateful?”

  “We had exactly ten years together as a whole family.”

  “What were they like?”

  “My parents?” I drew a shaky breath. “They were happy. I don’t ever remember seeing them fight. I mean, they must’ve had arguments, right? Everyone does. But I only remember Mom and Dad as always laughing and cracking jokes. They’d let us do pretty much anything we wanted: stay up all night, have ice cream for breakfast. In the middle of the day, they’d pull us out of school and take us on road trips, up to the cottage or out to some farm to go apple picking, stuff like that. They’d tell us we were ephemeral, and that they didn’t want to tame us.”

  “Ephemeral?”

  “I figured they meant us as kids living out our lives. It only comes once, childhood. That’s something special, right?”

  “That is something very special,” Madison said.

  “So, yeah,” I said. “I’m grateful.”

  This was the hugest epiphany for me, sucking on my sour apple Jolly Rancher. The truth was, for years after they’d died I’d resented my parents for leaving the three of us and Grandpa and Grandma the way they had. For a second, I thought I might just burst into tears. But then Madison took my hands and somehow she had me up on my feet dancing with the others, and the world was dizzy and loud, and beautiful and good. Reginald clapped me on the shoulder and said he was glad I was there, man. Then he messed up Mitz’s mohawk and kissed fiercely the side of his head. Nearby, Claire had her eyes closed with a huge smile on her face, her pigtails bouncing up and down as she twirled her tiger tail.

  It felt wonderful to dance with these people. Somebody had moved the coffee table and furniture to make more room. My vision kept going blurry but inside of me, something else was coming into sharp focus. Apart from family (which included Karen and the Miltons), I’d never felt this connected with anybody in my life. Even with family there was history which shadowed all the good: betrayals and disappointments, resentments and slights. But with these people, total strangers to me until just hours ago, the slate was clean. In this evolution of us, we’d just crawled out of the sea and were basking in sunshine and drawing air for the first time into our moist and pink, newly-formed lungs. There was no competition for resources, no battle for dominance and power. There was only this single-hearted communion beneath a magical sky.

  Just as I was starting to wonder where Marcus was, two figures strolled arm-in-arm out of the bedroom: Julia wearing Marcus’s velvet dinner jacket and top hat with a thin moustache pencilled with eyeliner on her upper lip, and Marcus in her rhinestone-studded corset and ruffle skirt. They made a spectacular couple and everyone whistled and whooped. After that, somehow I ended up trying on Claire’s Tigger onesie, which everyone insisted I keep on, even though it rode up my crotch and was really hot. Eventually I unzipped the front and took off my own T-shirt. By the end, all seven of us had our arms around each other, forming one shining circle like a halo fused from glowing and indomitable alloys. And I felt nothing but love and ridiculous gratitude for the messed-up, insufferable joy that was my entire ephemeral life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I Will Give You Everything

  David and I weren’t the only people Marcus had invited to dinner. When we knocked on his door, Marwa answered, wearing a black and gold lamé cocktail dress and Cleopatra-styled bangs.

  “Oh thank god you’re here,” she said, grabbing both our arms and pulling us in.

  Little had changed since I last stepped into Marcus’s east-end condo at Carlaw and Queen. The building was a refurbished printing warehouse, all gleaming concrete floors, exposed brick and rafters. Marcus’s décor remained spare bordering on ascetic. Above a leather-bound sofa, a black-and-white print featured Andy Warhol surrounded by partyers at The Factory.

  “Youssef’s in the hospital again,” Marwa said. “I thought I could manage with just Brody, but he just got rear-ended on the Gardiner and can’t make it. I am so desperate, I need your help.”

  “Yeah, sure, Marwa. Anything you need.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Youssef’s in the hospital again’?” David asked.

  “Youssef has an underactive thyroid.” She took the wine bottle we’d brought and set it aside in the kitchen. “He takes these pills, but sometimes things still get out of whack. He’s been exhausted all week. Yesterday he collapsed and was admitted for more tests.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

  “Of course, he’s going to be okay,” Marwa said, peering into the oven. “He’s my Youssef. The question is: Is my fatteh going to be okay? I’ve got my mise en place, I just need a sous chef and a server. I was counting on Brody to roll the dolma while I prepped the rabbit. David, Daniel, have either of you ever rolled dolma before?”

  Marcus emerged from the bedroom in a brocade vest with his hair styled back.

  “Marwa,” he said, “my guests are here to be regaled, not enslaved.”

  “We don’t mind,” David said, rolling up his sleeves. “This will be fun.”

  “Hello, Marcus,” I said.

  Marcus opened his arms. “I’m so glad you’ve come. The others won’t be arriving for an hour.” He hugged both David and me and kissed us lightly on the lips. “Marwa, your molokhiya can wait. Come join us for some bubbly.”

  “This is impressive,” David said, observing a dining table set for eleven. Silverware and crystal gleamed beneath the brushed steel lamps.

  Marcus pulled a Veuve Clicquot from an ice bucket.

  “I wanted some time alone,” he said. “Just the four of us, to celebrate.” The citrus fragrance of his cologne lingered. He wiped down the bottle and peeled off the gold foil. “Daniel, I remember when we’d order in Chinese and I’d help you study. Now look at you.”

  I compressed my lips into a smile. As usual, I had no idea what Marcus was talking about.

  Marcus untwisted the wire cage over the cork. “We spend our lives working to become something better, something worthwhile. It’s important to witness these moments. So, how does it feel?”

  “How,” I said, “does what feel?”

  Marwa brought out a tray of four Champagne flutes. Marcus wrapped the towel around the bottleneck. “To finally graduate?”

  “Graduate?”

  “Medical school. You’re a doctor now. Your grandfather must be so proud.”

  “Wait, stop.”

  Pop. The cork came out.

  “Marcus, look. I mean, thanks for all of this, but I’m not graduating.”

  The oven dinged.

  Marwa blinked. “What?”

  “What I mean is, I haven’t graduated yet.”

  “I distinctly recall,” Marcus said, “helping you study for your MCAT.”

  “You did.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t get in that year. Marcus, we broke up, remember, before I found out. I guess no one told you.”

  “Ah.” Marcus lowered the bottle. “The dreaded med school rejection.”

  “But Daniel,” Marwa said, “you told me you were in med school.”

  David pointed a finger at me. “He’s definitely in med school.”

  “I am in med school. I mean, I got into med school. I reapplied the next year. I just have another year before I graduate, alright?”

  Marwa blushed. “Alright.”

  Marcus raised a hand. “We understand.”

  “We do.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Marwa said, “don’t be sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry. That’s not what I meant. I mean, what do I have to be sorry for?”

  “Oh.” Marwa squeezed my arm. “Nothing. No, of course not. You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”

  “That’s right.”

  “This,” David said, “is awkward.”

  “Hardly,” Marcus said, pouring the champagne. “Life is a celebration. Let us live without apologies, and with gratitude for every moment we have.” He
handed out three glasses. “To our beautiful muse Marwa. To our beautiful compatriot David. And to our beautiful physician-to-be, Daniel Garneau.”

  This was more than awkward. David raised his glass. “And to you,” he said. “Congratulations on your show. To our beautiful Marcus.”

  “To us,” Marcus said. “To the glorious precipice of now.”

  As it turned out, Marcus had invited to dinner his entire production team as well as his director, agent and publisher. Conversation was brisk and business-like, centred on preparations for his up-coming tour. David and I spent the evening in and out of our seats, helping Marwa prep and serve dishes. Toward the end, the stage manager, a tall, soft-spoken fellow named Gee, insisted on helping David and me clear the table.

  Just before dessert, Marwa beckoned me to the front door. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “The band’s here. They’re downstairs at the loading gate.”

  “What band?”

  “The band, for the party.”

  “What party?”

  “Daniel, the pre-launch party tonight. You knew that.”

  “What? No, I didn’t know that.”

  “We’re celebrating Marcus’s up-coming tour.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Look, Daniel.” She pressed a key into my hand. “This is for the freight elevator. Can you just help the band load in? Everyone will be arriving in forty minutes. I really need to prep my baklava. I owe you big time, thanks so much.”

  I arrived at the elevator just as my brother Pat walked out carrying two amps. His hair was green and he was sporting a tight T-shirt that said “MR. DRESSUP” in disco-styled lettering. “Hey Dan! Good to see ya!”

  “Pat. What are you doing here?”

  Rod shouldered past in dark sunglasses, hauling mic stands and a mixer. “Dan.”

  “Hi Rod.”

  Pat set down his amps. “We’re playing Marcus’s pre-launch party.”

  “He’s booked Three Dog Run?”

  “Technically,” Pat said, unwrapping a pack of gum and shoving its contents in his mouth one by one, “he’s called in an IOU.”

  “An IOU?”

  “Well, you know how he lent us his loft to record our EP, right? We couldn’t pay him, but we all agreed we’d owe him a private gig. When the time came, he said he’d let us know. This is it, man. It’s payback time!” Pat clapped me on the shoulder. “By the way, congratulations, big brother.”

  “For what?”

  “For finishing med school.”

  “I’m not finished, Pat. I have one more year to go. Who told you I was finished?”

  “Oh, shit. I dunno. I just thought you were done. I’ve been telling everyone you were done.”

  “Including Marcus?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Oops.” Pat shrugged. “Okay, well, I guess next year then. Hey, can you help Rod load this gear in? Bobby and the Egster are still parking.” He jumped back into the elevator and flourished two hang-loose signs. “Tonight, we is gonna bring da house down!”

  That night following dinner, three dozen more guests arrived, a whole case of sparkling wine was opened, and Three Dog Run brought the house down. I was acquainted with many of the people present, including Fang and Jonathan, and others from Marcus’s closing night show. Gee, David and I helped Marwa pack away all the tableware and haul it downstairs to her van. “This stuff,” I asked, “doesn’t belong to Marcus?”

  “Oh no,” Marwa said. “It’s all rented, and so are the table and chairs.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Daniel, you can rent anything you want. There’s so much stuff in life we can’t afford or don’t have the space for. But we can still enjoy them.”

  “I suppose so.”

  I helped Marwa load the last box and we closed the doors to her van. Gee and David had already gone back up to the party. Marwa sat on the rear bumper and lit a super slim menthol. Violet clouds glowed in the west. Across the parking lot, a three-storey mural depicted giant robot insects dancing amidst colourful flowers.

  “Can I tell you something?” Marwa asked. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

  I sat down on the sidewalk curb. “Sure.”

  “I’ve been making some money on the side, working for a company called RentAFriend.”

  “Rent-a-friend?”

  “I’ve been doing it for a while now. It’s not what everyone thinks. The service really is platonic friendships only.”

  “The service?”

  “There are a lot of lonely people out there in the world, Daniel. People appreciate having some real company.”

  “People hire you to be their friend?”

  Marwa nodded. “Mm-hm.”

  “Like, by the hour?”

  “That’s right. Although I might lower my rate if they’re paying for dinner or tickets or something. A client might want company shopping, or someone to show them around town. I had this one older guy who just wanted me to help with his scrapbooking.”

  “And you said this is all platonic?”

  “Totally. There are very strict rules. I don’t even normally hold hands. I might give you a hug at the end of the evening, but that’s it. Women and men from all walks of life are doing this. We’re just really friendly people, looking to make a bit of extra cash.”

  “Wow.”

  “Once I did have this boy take me to a family barbecue and pretend I was his girlfriend.”

  “How did that work out?”

  “Oh we planned it all out in advance. It was fun.”

  “Was he gay?”

  Marwa nodded. “He was tired of people asking him why he wasn’t with anyone. He was the one I let hold my hand. He was sweet. I really felt sorry for him. I’ve been a bridesmaid twice. I’ve still kept one of the dresses. Then there’s this one woman up in Markham who’s hired me to visit her mother in the nursing home every week.”

  “Marwa, how much time are you spending doing this?”

  “A lot more than I expected. More than most, I think.” She handed me her cigarette and I took a puff. “I’ve discovered, Daniel, I’m really good at it. People like me. I’ve had to cut back on other things in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the special catering.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not the same income, of course, but it still covers the overhead for Cherry Bomb Bakery. I figure I’ve been supplying favours long enough. I don’t miss it.”

  “Wow, Marwa. I don’t know what to say.” If Marwa had cut back on drug-dealing so she could spend more time scrapbooking and socializing with seniors, who was I to judge? “I’m proud of you.”

  Marwa turned to face me. “That means a lot. Thank you. I mean, I’m still making people happy right? Now it’s just different. Some people think it’s next to prostituting myself. But I know I’m doing a good service. People can always find another dealer. But my RentAFriend clients, they really need me. If I can help them feel a little less alone, if I can give them advice, if I can make them feel a little more confident about themselves, then I’m doing good, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Marwa bit her lower lip. “You surprise me sometimes, Daniel Garneau.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There are times when Marcus makes you out as someone who’s, well, just a little conservative.”

  “Is that right? Well, I don’t blame him. The truth is, a lot of the time I think I am.”

  “Maybe on the surface. But who was that boy who showed up at a burlesque show wearing a kilt?”

  “Oh jeez.”

  “Without any underwear, might I add.”

  “You want to know the truth?”

  “What?”

  “I just did that to make Marcus jealous.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. Not entirely at least. You were having too much fun.”

  “It was fun,” I sa
id. “I’m glad you invited us.”

  “Oh, Gee likes you, by the way.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s been watching you both all evening. You and David are really sweet together. Do you think he’s cute?”

  “Um, he seems like a nice guy.”

  “He’s very organized. He’s also really talented. You should get to know him. This is for you, by the way.” She held out an envelope.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s what I would’ve paid Brody and Youssef if they’d been here.”

  “Oh, Marwa, thanks. But you don’t need to do that.”

  “You earned it.”

  “We were happy to help out. Gee helped out too. Seriously, put that away. Really. I appreciate it. Look, why don’t you bake us a cake sometime?”

  “Oh.” Marwa’s face lit up. “I can do that. When’s your anniversary?”

  “David’s and mine? It just passed in June.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “Four years.”

  “That is a long time.”

  “I suppose it is.” I scratched the back of my head. “You know what they say about gay relationships: They’re just like dog years.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dog years. You multiply it by seven. So that means we’ve been together twenty-eight regular years.”

  “Daniel.” Marwa stared at me like her puff pastry had just collapsed. “That is so demeaning. Don’t say that. Dogs have a life expectancy built-into their DNA. You can’t say the same thing about people’s relationships.”

  “Marwa, it’s just a joke.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really, it’s not.”

  “Alright.”

  An elderly couple passed nearby, walking two schnauzers. Marwa worried at the hem of her dress.

  “You know,” she said, “people used to call me Marwa the Mutt.”

  “Oh. That sucks.”

  “It was fucking shitty, that’s what it was. In high school, there were these assholes who’d bark at me every time they’d see me: woof woof woof. I tried to pretend I didn’t care. But it got to me. Back then, meeting that special someone, it was always this end-of-the-rainbow, this unicorn in the forest. Sometimes I’d think I was getting close. I’d get a tiny glimpse of it. But then. It’s hard not to get hopeless or bitter. I used to keep telling myself, one day my prince would come. But after so many disappointments, you can’t help but start wondering if there really is something wrong with you.”